[b]Caelum C. Jameson[/b]

Caelum had barely read the first line of the file she'd taken from the rude Psyche – Nicki F. Sharpe, she corrected herself – when the second arrival showed up. Mostly because she was trying to stare the redhead out. It was a trick she'd learned from life on Mars, way back when she was a kid surrounded by other kids floating objects around willy nilly, and if she were to write it down it'd go something like, “[i]Be a wild dog. They ain't afraid of no Psyches. Psyches are just folk like any other to them.[/i]”

She turned with a bright smile to the girl named Risty. Her grin somehow widened further when she glanced at the tattoos, then at the handcuffs, then at the huge red lettering on the file. [i]Dangerous[/i], she decided, [i]but doesn't feel the need to prove it[/i]. “It [i]is[/i] Caelum. Caelum I am. I – well, I'll stop now,” she said, twirling a tuft of hair around her finger and pouting. “I'm afraid I was looking forward to the whole 'you show me yours and I'll show you mine' with regards to these files. Those escorts of yours ruined the fun.”

Flipping through to the third page of the Garce file and finding the list of criminal offences, she blinked once in shock. The word 'piracy' stood out like a sore thumb, mostly because it was bolded, but the sheer number of them astounded her. Risty couldn't have been much older than she was, and yet – by the thickness of the file – she'd clearly lived more.

She shook her head, turning to Nicki again. “F. Sharp – that's what I'm going to call you from now on, like the musical note, geddit? – it's not nice to waste paper. Trees died for it, y'know?” She fiddled with the torn shreds of paper on the desk as if it was a mosiac, sighing wistfully. “I could've made a plane with it. Or one of those little 'fortune tellers'...”

Caelum forcibly suppressed the sly grin trying to trickle across her face again to replace her mournful facade but in the wake of her excitement it was quickly erased. “Not long now 'til we're on The Medusa, slippin' through the stars. She'll be as quiet as a mouse,” she swore, before hesitating. “Well, a mouse that has some sort of affliction of the lungs and can't breath without rattling. We never did find out what caused that problem.”